Stitching wounds was hardly a rare task for Qin Liuxi. Just before she arrived, on the day when the Grandmaster performed the Enlightenment ritual, she had stitched up a Scholar, her movements skilled and adept.
Yet the little girl before her was hundreds of times luckier than that Scholar—not only did she not feel any pain, but she was also oblivious to the happenings on her body, and the other party's movements were exceptionally light and delicate.
Doctor Du watched from the side, witnessing how Qin Liuxi stitched up the slanted wound bit by bit, just like mending clothes—unhurried and remarkably steady.
So wounds could be stitched up like this.
Doctor Du swallowed hard, his fingertips trembling slightly.
The shop attendant and the attendant stood by, lips twitching, inhaling cold air breath by breath, as if the needle and thread were piercing his own face, unbearably painful.
